


Snow-Nosed Bastards

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al's NEWT level Muggle Studies course comes in handy in the strangest way. (Cocaine's a hell of a drug.) [Written as a pinch hit for emansil_08 for hp_cestfest 2010]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow-Nosed Bastards

The city lights blurred around them, exaggerated in an inebriated ebb and flow that left James feeling nauseous. "Why are we in a taxi?" What kind of wizard takes a fucking taxi, he wanted to know. Al was wedged between him and Scorpius, and the scent of sweat and liquor floated heavily, stuck like a second layer to the sickly green seats. The driver was smoking, and every so often a clump of hot ash would fly back. James had three holes in his shirt.

"We can't scare the source," Scorpius said ominously.

Al huffed, shifting restlessly between them.

"You mind?" His elbow was digging into James' waist, an apparent hint. James elbowed him back.

"Nah," he said. "I'm good, here."

"The source," Scorpius kept saying, "is a very busy man—"

"Will you just shut the fuck about the source? You and your fucking _source_!"

" _Your mother_."

"Well, I can see this isn't going anywhere!" Al rolled his eyes. "You're both idiots."

"I'm not," James said, sulking. Scorpius might not give a shit, but Al could get under James' skin by just _breathing._ He dug his hand between their joined legs just to feel Al squirm agitatedly.

"Stop being a bastard!" Al hissed, kicking his legs. It was about the only movement he could manage in the tiny backseat without injuring all of them.

"Driver!" Scorpius started shouting, jerking upright and forcing Al nearly into his brother's lap. "I demand you stop!"

"Scorpius, what the fuck!" James steadied Al as the cab jerked, tires squealing as the driver cursed and stamped on the breaks.

"We passed our stop!" Scorpius glared at James as if everything that ever went wrong, up to and including the late Dark Lord, was his fault. _You are a terrible person,_ his eyes said. James sneered at him and wrapped an arm around Al's waist, dragging him out of the car once he managed to get the door open. Al pushed him off the second his feet hit the pavement, and he rounded on Scorpius, a finger in his face.

"Do not," he said, his voice a low hiss, "yell at the Muggles. What have I told you?"

"Don't yell at the Muggles?" Scorpius hazarded.

"I don't even know why I'm here," Al muttered. "We shouldn't even be doing this."

"We're doing this because we want to," Scorpius said.

"I _don't_ want to."

"Fine," Scorpius amended, "then we're doing it to dislodge that stick from your arse. Tell me, does it hurt terribly?"

"That's it! I'm leaving—"

"Wait a second!" James grabbed Al around the waist, cocking his head at Scorpius. "Go do whatever the fuck you're doing. We'll wait here."

"That's probably a good idea," Scorpius said, his tone dry. "I'd hate for Potter to lose it and try to citizen's arrest my source."

"Why am I even friends with him?" Al asked as Scorpius strolled away, straight-back posture obscene against the backdrop of broken-down buildings and cheap neon lighting. "He's a terrible influence!"

"That's probably the reason. C'mon, just relax!" James still hadn't let go, and when Al tried to squirm away, he shifted his grip, arm draped loosely over his younger brother's shoulders.

They'd spent the day in some Muggle city, running around at Scorpius' whim in preparation for a night that they hadn't wanted anything to do with. James loved going out, loved doing mostly anything, but the more things leaned toward the illegal, the less interested James became. Al, however, never liked parties. He'd choose sitting in his room with a book before just about anything else. Their mum made cracks all the time about how he was too much like his godmother—maybe he was switched at birth with Rose?

Only, Rose was the most uptight person James had ever met, so her being his real sibling was about as likely as her sitting in between him and Scorpius on their way to do things of a not-so-legal nature.

"I don't want to relax," Al grumbled. "We're going to get arrested."

"No, we're not."

"Don't say we're not! That'll make it happen!" Al said in a hushed, panicked tone. It was easy to forget that Al was a Potter sometimes. He was so careful and surprisingly fragile. James tightened his arm, the casual grip sliding to something intimate.

"We're not," he said again. "Stop freaking out. If you keep panicking, someone'll think we're up to something."

"Sure," Al muttered. "Because we're totally _not_ up to anything. Of course, what was I thinking?" It was less what he was thinking and more _that_ he was thinking, but James knew well enough to keep his mouth shut.

"There's Scorpius," he said, catching sight of blond hair and a smug expression. Scorpius traipsed out of a nearby alleyway, looking for all the world like he'd just won the million Galleon lottery. "Guess his source worked out." Al made a distressed noise and briefly pressed tighter into James' grip before pulling away altogether, putting a respectable distance between them. James ignored a strange, sudden pinprick of annoyance and waved at Scorpius.

"Gentleman, applause!" Scorpius cried, pushing himself between them, an arm over either one. "Tonight, we live!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" James asked, bewildered. "Aren’t we just smoking gillyweed?"

"Drama queen, that's what you are!" Al shook his head, exasperated. "I don't even know you anymore."

"Now, now," Scorpius chided, obviously too pleased with himself to pay Al any mind. "We will most certainly not be smoking gillyweed! That's so _first year Hufflepuff_!"

James and Al traded looks, communicating a shared thought: _he's lost his mind, prepare to run._

"If you weren't getting gillyweed, then why the fuck did we come all the way down here?" James asked. "Could you possibly have put us through any more trouble just for your stupid source to dick us?"

"And who says he did?" Scorpius' smile was sly. "I think, if anything, he's done us quite the favour."

"What kind of favour?" Al looked ready to run for real, and James didn't blame him. The gleam in Scorpius' eyes fell just this side of disturbing, something wholly inhuman and immoral.

"Have you ever heard of coke-anne?"

"Coke-anne?" James stared at Scorpius blankly. The fuck was _coke-anne_?

"Coke—Oh, fucking Merlin's balls!" Al's eyes went round, something between scandalized shock and appreciation. "You mean _cocaine_?"

"Oh, yeah," Scorpius shrugged. "Whatever, that."

"You… You have cocaine?" Al closed his eyes and took a deep breath, going static for just long enough that James actually began to worry.

"What's cocaine?" he asked. It didn't sound like anything he'd heard of; though, truth be told, his experience with recreational potions was limited.

"It's a Muggle drug," Al told him. "And it's illegal in both worlds. Scorpius, what in the hell made you buy that of all things?"

"It sounded fun!" Scorpius said defensively. "What does it matter, anyway?"

"You don't even know how to do it," Al pointed out. "You couldn't even say the name!"

"Ah," Scorpius grinned. "But you do." Silence.

"No, I don't," Al scoffed. "I've never touched anything like that!"

"But you've read about it, I'll wager, and so you do know how to do it." Scorpius had him there. James watched his brother war with himself: give in to the illegal depravity or tell Scorpius that he didn't know? Al had never once refused to acknowledge that he knew something, and James had a hard time believing his brother would start then. Not for Scorpius' sake.

"All right." Al sagged, his shoulders drooping. "We can't go anywhere, though!" He gave them both looks, eyes telling them exactly what would happen to them if his instructions weren't followed to the letter. "We have to stay at James' flat and _not leave._ "

Scorpius was so excited to get to it that he disregarded his no-Apparition rule and cracked out of existence, leaving his friends for—presumably—James' flat.

"You think that's where he actually went?" Al looked sceptical. "This is going to go so badly, you know. We'll probably die."

"Now who's the drama queen?" James asked, clearing his mind and focusing on his kitchen. Al ignored the jibe, and when the loud crack sounded next to him, James' echoed it, the filthy bottom-feeding streets of the city swirling away to sickly yellow walls and cheap furniture.

Al and Scorpius were already on their knees, crouched around the short table Teddy'd gotten him from Japan during his gap year. "So what now?" Scorpius leaned in over the table, broaching the tiny distance between them until his nose nearly touched Al's face. "How does it work?"

"Give him some fucking air, Merlin!" James growled, kicking Scorpius in the side before dropping down next to his brother. Al's hand found his knee under the table, squeezing it briefly, a comforting pressure, before holding his hand out to Scorpius.

"Give it here, and we'll see." He could complain all he wanted, but there was a note of eagerness in Al's voice. Scorpius pulled a small plastic bag out of his trousers and exchanged knowing looks with James. "This is going to go so very badly," Al said again, this time looking at Scorpius. "When I die, I just want you to know that it will be entirely your fault."

"Fine, haunt me, whatever. Just open the bag!"

"That looks like flour!" James leaned over his brother's shoulder, frowning. "What do you even do with it?"

"Snort it," Al said dully, dumping out a bit of the clumpy white powder into the table. It crumbled easily.

"It looks like flour," he said again. "I think he made that up, your idiot source. This is—you want us to _snort it_?" James hadn't heard anything so stupid in his life! Even Scorpius looked dubious, eying the powder with forced nonchalance.

"You're sure about this?" The hesitancy was clear in Scorpius' voice. "That just sounds odd. Muggles really put this stuff in their noses?"

"It's… well, I think it's supposed to work faster that way?" Al's face pinched, nose scrunching. His eyes focused wholly on the little pile of powder, leaning in close, little bits of it scattering in the wake of his breath. "Who wants the first go?"

"Scorpius does," James volunteered. "If someone's going to die, it should be the bastard that bought the shit!"

"Fine," Scorpius said after a beat. "How do I do it?"

"Just—lean in and snort it?" Al shrugged. "You put it in lines and just go down it, I think. I, uh, I hear straws work well."

"Straws?"

"Yeah, like using it a s a funnel, you know? It's supposed to make it… neater, I guess. We don't have to do this," he tacked on. "We could just—sell it."

"Sell it?" Scorpius scoffed. "After the trouble we went through to _get it_? You're out of your mind, Potter! Now, shove over. I'm going to put that stuff in my nose!"

"Snort it, actually," Al said weakly, pushing against James's side to give Scorpius room. They both leaned toward the boy, watching him crouch down, curl over the table, face mere inches from the pile. "Line," Al reminded. "And seriously, get a straw. Do we have straws?"

"Not here," James said. He'd never much cared for straws. There was something inherently girly about needing a drinking aid, like he wasn't man enough to pick up a fucking cup on his own.

"Maybe we could substitute something for it," Al said thoughtfully. "Oh, hey, get some paper!"

"Like parchment paper?" Scorpius sat back, hands on his thighs. "How in the hell is that going to do us any good?"

"Get it and I'll show you, arsehole," Al bit back.

Scorpius took his sweet time in finding some paper. James should have been doing it, but like hell was he going to leave that shithead with Al. He was always _looking_ , and that was not on, not in the least.

"Right, so this will work?" Scorpius dropped a magazine on the table. Al picked it up—a Quidditch magazine, of course, James didn't read much, fucking bathroom fodder was all the _Prophet_ was—and ripped out a page, rubbing the paper between his fingers before rolling it into a tube shape.

"Yeah," he said, "this'll do. Just—do you have a card, or something?"

"A card?" James frowned, looking around the room. "Got a picture, but no card."

"That'll do. Give it here." Al's tone was all business. Scorpius snickered when James rushed to get the photo, a picture of one of a long-ago ex-girlfriend, and coughed something that sounded suspiciously like _whipped_ under his breath.

"Fuck you—"

"All right," Al interrupted the spat. "Let's do this."

"You sound awfully eager." Scorpius gave him a dry look. "We're all going to live, I take it?"

"I have no clue!" Al looked so frustrated. "This was your idea, though, so if anyone dies—"

"Right, I'm a terrible person. May hellfire consume me." Scorpius rolled his eyes. They all gathered back around the table. Al leaned down, grabbing the picture from James. He dumped the rest of the powder on the table. "Hey, watch it! Do you know how much that cost?"

"Just shut up, Malfoy," James warned. Scorpius shot him a dirty look over Al's bent head.

"All right," Al said carefully, taking the picture and using it to section off a bit of the powder. He made a slim line with it, then another, then a third. "Okay."

"I don't get it," James said. "What's this supposed to do?"

"It's, er, I think it's called cutting lines, or something. Like I said, it's supposed to make it easier."

"How in the hell do you even know all this?" Scorpius demanded. "I thought you were straight-edge or some shit."

"I wouldn't be smoking gillyweed if I were straight-edge," Al reminded. "And besides, it's not from experience. Remember? I took Muggle studies on the NEWT level. The topic for the class was culture."

"So you studied drugs," Scorpius said flatly. "Why didn't I take that class?"

"Because you're a pure-blood arsehole?" James guessed.

"Can you two please shut up?" Al took a deep breath. "I'm going first."

"What?"

"Fuck that—"

"Too late," Al said, holding up the rolled up paper. "I'm the only one who even knows how to do it, so you can both just kiss my arse."

And what could they say to that? James watched anxiously as his brother leaned down over the table, poking the roll in one nostril, closing the other with his finger. He pointed it at one of the little white lines and sucked in deep, moving down. The powder disappeared, and Al sat up, head tipped backward, and kept on sucking it down. It sounded like he had too much snot stuck in the back of his throat. James made a disgusted face.

"So?" Scorpius hovered next to Al, face fraught with tension. "So? How is it?"

"It's—" Al gave another sucking breath, like swallowing a gob of phlegm. "I don't know," he said. "You go."

Scorpius wasted no time in ripping the roll of paper from Al's hand and going down on the stuff like it was about run screaming out the door. His line disappeared in seconds, and he threw his head back, nose scrunching in a disgusted grimace. "Ugh, it feels like there's shite stuck—" He snorted, swallowing loudly. "Fuck, it's stuck."

"I think it's—it's supposed to be." Their words were punctuated with random wet snorts and swallows, and James shied away from the table.

"I don't know about this," he said. "This is fucked up."

"If Albus—" Another disgusting, slurping snort. "—could do it, then you'd better." Scorpius gave him a threatening look. Al didn't seem to care one way or another, his eyelids fluttering, head tilted back.

James took the pseudo-straw and leaned over the table, giving the line Al had cut for him one last look before jamming the rolled up paper up his nose and breathing deep. The powder hit the back of his throat, bunching, and he had to struggle to snort down the rest. In a matter of seconds, all three boys were sitting side-by-side, heads tilted back, snorting and swallowing.

"Fuck!' James groaned, swallowing again. "Merlin. Are you both—"

  
"Oh, _fuck yes_!"

He opened his eyes, startled. Scorpius and Al were both grinning, still snorting and sucking back what was left stuck in their throats.

"Man," Al said, his voice coming out a speeding squeak. Scorpius' fingers were drumming against the tabletop, his eyes darting from the pile to the straw in James' hand.

"Man," he said back to Al. James looked at them both like they'd lost their minds.

Then he felt it. A rush shooting behind his eyes, a tense buzzing flowing through his body and humming in the core of his brain, the grey matter churning and twisting and real.

"Man," James said.

*

They didn't know nearly enough. After a few tries, hands shaking and manic grins breaking at the edges of their jaws, the three of them managed to get a good portion of the powder back into the bag, trading promises to not touch it for a bit, _gotta make it last._ James' hands shook hard, and he watched Al, took in the glow heavy in his brother's eyes.

"So, what now?" is what he tried to ask, but what came out sounded more like _s'whanow,_ like that squeaky, hyper voice kids always imagine a dog would sound like. James' mind was busted, stuck somewhere between the sound of his own voice and dogs, but Al got it. He understood mostly anything, if it was James.

Al shrugged, a jerky, nervous movement. "D'nno, man, we should, we—"

"LET'S GO SOMEWHERE, OKAY?" Scorpius' voice, loud as hell, broke through the quaking intensity of the high, and the boys all just kept right on grinning, Al's earlier warning of keeping them all locked up forgotten even to the speaker himself.

"Yeah, 'kay, let's do it!" James' voice was still squeaky, still too quick for his mind to process, but Al translated for Scorpius. They were all trying to talk at once, had the best plans ever for the night. James shoved Scorpius out of the way and rested his head on the top of Al's head and sighed, and said:

"We should, man, we should, like—let's go to that one club, you know? The one we went to with Teddy that time, you know, man, you know?" And yeah, Al knew. James didn't how Al knew, because he honestly didn't know what the hell all that word vomit was, but Al just always knew _everything._

"Yeah," Al said, nodding fast, the movement jerking and blending into the air. "Let's do it. Scorpius? You for it?"

"Yeah, man," Scorpius said and looked at the brothers with eyes nearly all black. "I'm bringing the bag, man."

*

Apparating was out of the question. What little rational thought Al had left forced him to grab James and Scorpius' hands and refuse to let go until his mouth realigned itself with his mind enough that he could explain. The decision to walk came shortly after.

James lived in a Muggle flat, the third floor, heavily warded against any sort of intrusion, even their father dropping by unexpectedly—which, granted, had happened just the once, but having his father catch him doing the deed with a girl whose name he didn't even know was just a touch past mortifying.

"Where's this place?" Scorpius sniffed loudly, drawing the attention of an elderly couple. He gave them a hard stare, and they crossed the street without even waiting for the light. "We can—we know where it is, yeah?"

"Uh huh." Al's hands kept twitching up to his face, his fingers rubbing the outside of his nostrils red. "We've been here, like, what was it? It was a year ago, I think. Me 'n James, and Teddy, he went too." He kept talking, a never-ending flow of nonsense. James scuffed his trainers against the sidewalk and counted the cigarette butts littering the way.

Despite the general fogginess of mind and world, they made it all right. The Drunken Unicorn wasn't anything top-rate; in fact, it fell just to the short side of shady. "It's a Muggle club, innit?" Scorpius asked. The doors blared neon lighting into the dark streets, and the boys squinted at the building. "Looks like shit."

"You look like shit, but I kept my mouth shut!" James rolled his eyes, jamming his hands in his pockets. "Oh, fuck, why are we here again?"

"Uh," Scorpius said. "Dunno." He fiddled with his pocket, eyes shooting to the side of the building, to James, and back. "Want to?"

"Want to what?" James snapped back, but Al was already moving, three steps ahead of Scorpius who slid the top of the bag out of his pocket and gave James a _you're a fucking moron_ look.

 _Oh_ , James thought. _That._ It hadn't lasted long, the cocaine. His mind still felt numb, body jittery, but the euphoric vibes were gone, replaced with a bland sense of complacency.

Yeah, he wanted to.

They didn't have any straws, no convenient strips of paper, so the three of them made a circle, heads bowed down, hands digging in to the bag, breathing deeply against dusted fingers. It was a struggle; they all wanted their share. James gave Scorpius a look and called him a _greasy bastard, where's my part, huh?_ Scorpius shoved him, and the small pile he'd been balancing on his fingertips dumped down, a white trail down the front of his shirt. He didn't even get the chance to be angry about it, because Al was right there, nose buried in his collar, trailing down his chest and huffing it all as fast as he could.

"Right," Scorpius said, and the nervous, hyped edge was back in his voice. "If you're done, like, being gay for each other, you sick fucks, can we go now? We came here to be here, right? I didn't fucking come here to watch you get sucked off in a back alley by your little brother, you shitty—" Scorpius liked to rant; he could talk for hours just for the enjoyment of hearing his own voice, so James didn't give a fuck when he started in on the same old, tired tirade.

It was always difficult to get angry and stay that way when Al's lips were pressed to his throat, more so when Al was panting, breath racing at an exaggerated pace, whistling between the slight gap in his front teeth. He pressed a kiss to James' neck and pulled back, staring at him with eyes nearly all black, the green a timid outline of the void. "Let's go," he said, watching James with careful eyes.

Al led, pulling James by the hand and leaving Scorpius to follow after, still muttering about the injustice of everything he laid eyes on. "Fucking five quid," Scorpius complained. "What kind of cover charge is that? _Five quid_!" He sniffed loudly, groping the outline of the bag shoved into his pocket.

"We paid—more, right?" Al's eyes fluttered rapidly against the stark lighting, bizarre greens and blues heavy against the night spilling in. The bouncer held the door open, peering in after them. He was suspicious. James' skin itched with the thought, and he squeezed Al's hand and kicked Scorpius' shin, nodding in the general direction of a booth.

"We’re at a fucking club!" Scorpius kept right on complaining, following after them. "We came here to—to do, Merlin, _where the fuck are we_?" He was exclaiming everything, and it made James' teeth shake, some bizarre mix of envy and irritation at the sheer volume Scorpius could maintain for so long.

"Man, just shut up, we're here, right?" James sat down and stood right up. He thought for a moment, tapping his foot against the stone floor, eyes flickering. "Let's have a drink."

"I read somewhere," Al broke in, "that drinking would be a bad idea, if we're us."

"But we are us!" Scorpius looked alarmed. "It's bad because of that? Why is it bad? I paid good money for this! FIVE QUID!"

"Oh, fuck your five quid! I'm having a drink, Al." It felt like talking at light speed, and James was sorely tempted to take another good whiff of the powder just to see how much faster the world could spin.

"No," Al said, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Yes," James said right back. "Absolutely yes. You stay here," he added, and went off to the bartender, fully intending to take part in the tending. It was a bar, what the fuck else would he be there for? Al didn't have a clue what he was even saying. "It's all that cocaine!" James said as he stood at the counter. A man seated next to him turned his head quickly, blinking.

"Is it?"

"I'm not talking to you, man," James said, scratching at his arm absentmindedly. "Man!" The bartender, a leery looking middle aged man, handed him a glass— _on the rocks, what the fuck was on the rocks_ , James wanted to know—and James tossed it back, eyes focused just beyond the break in the crowd, a dense mass of people adorned in glowing plastic tubular jewellery. He could see Scorpius banging his way through the people, a cluster of giggling, glowing girls behind him. Al wasn't at the table, wasn't where he was supposed to be.

James dropped the glass and let it crash against the bar, a crack streaking up the side as his magic sparked and whirred with the fever of his state. His brain was buzzing, and Al _wasn't at the fucking table_ , that fuck!

Pushing his way through the people, James somehow ended up with three different tubular necklaces, all effusing different hues of purple and blue. They felt odd, and he found himself wondering vaguely what sort of potions the Muggles used to get them to glow like that, because it sure as hell wasn't something he'd ever made.

Al was in a booth—the wrong booth—with three people, one guy and two girls, all watching him with the same fire. James scowled as best he could with his jaw clenching and ticking, and broke through the stragglers at the edge of the dance floor, standing at the edge of the table, his fingers automatically sliding onto the cool surface, drumming ceaselessly. Al looked up at him and smiled, his pupils sliding frantically large, small, large.

"I was wondering where'd you'd gotten off to, see!" Al turned to the guy of the group, his smile strange and twisted, like he couldn't quite control his mouth. "That—well, that's James, he's my—"

"Al!" James slid into the booth gracelessly with the sudden knowledge that perhaps alcohol shouldn't have been mixed with the powder. He grabbed the edge, pulled himself steady, and continued sliding until he was right next to his brother, leaning in so the tips of their noses touched. Al went cross-eyed.

"James!" Al said.

"You're at the wrong table," James continued. The three people who James knew shouldn't be sitting there were watching with great interest, the two girls leaning toward them eagerly. It was disconcerting.

"Sorry," Al said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "I was having a time of it, you see, and I so hated stopping and you were _drinking_. I _told_ you not to—"

James, eyes rolling, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Al's mouth. The girls gasped shrilly, and the guy got up and left, shaking his head. James watched the man disappear into the writhing masses and wished the girls would hurry up, too, because Al's mouth had opened up _just so_ , pink tongue darting out to slide along James' lips. It was tantalizing, and James opened up to it, mouth meshing against his brother's sloppily.

The buzzing in his brain stirred noisily, his jaw aching, and James sat back. Al followed him, his eyes glazed. "What?" Al asked, licking his lips. James followed the movement—as did their audience.

"C'mere," James said, shifting in the booth so his back hit the corner. He held his arms out. "Stop sitting there like a lump."

"As opposed to sitting _on_ a lump?" Al scoffed and climbed over, knees falling on either side of James' thighs. The table pushed against Al's back, forcing him to hunch over with his face buried in the side of James' neck. "We're in public," Al said, a gentle reminder.

"They're Muggles," James responded. His hands moved to Al's arse, cupping Al's cheeks through his jeans.

"You're so messed up right now." Al laughed against his neck, the hot, moist air tickling bare skin. James shrugged, rolling his shoulders. He could feel the pulse of the liquor heavy in his veins, competing with the shrill buzzing left from the cocaine. He wondered where Scorpius was with the bag.

"S'kay," James muttered back, pushing his hips up and squeezing Al's arse again, his hands clenching, releasing, a steady pattern. Al's breath caught in his throat, sharp little gasps sounding against James' ear every time they ground together. James was floating, his whole body warm.

"James—" Al's eyes had fallen shut, and James angled his head so he could watch his brother's face, every slight tick and thrill of pleasure playing across it unhindered.

"Hm?" James grunted back, ceasing all movement. While Al panted in James' ear and squirmed against his cock, James gave his rear a final squeeze, fingers trailing up to graze the bared skin at the small of Al's back before sliding down under the waistband of Al's trousers and grabbing hold of Al's bare arse, the skin hot to the touch. Al went still, muscles tensing.

"James," Al said directly into his ear, hips shifting and squirming against his brother's wandering hands, the teasing brush of James' fingers. "What—oh, Merlin, please tell me you aren't—"

"Nope," James said as he slid a finger into the cleft of Al's arse, sliding the sweat-dampened tip against the creased skin. "Wouldn't think to."

Al squirmed against the pressure, his hips shifting back and forth, alternating in frustration and reluctance. James' eyes focused on his brother's back, watching the sexy, jerking tics with the same fascination he'd watched his first game of Quidditch with. He didn't have to look up to know that those girls were still there, their shoulders and thighs pressed together as they watched with bated breath. They wanted to see him fuck Al, and James hated to disappoint a crowd.

He pressed firmer, and the finger playing at the softened crease just barely pushed through the tight ring. Al stopped moving completely, his hands settling on James' upper arms, pushing.

"Wait," Al said, voice desperate. "James, oh, fuck, you can't—not here—"

James could, and he could _there_. The finger slid in to the knuckle, and James wasted no time, crooking it roughly, pulling against the tight walls undulating around it. Al's back bent so taut James thought it might break, Al's body bent nearly in half over the edge of the table, his dark, shaggy hair just barely brushing against the sticky, alcohol stained surface.

Al's cock was fit to burst, the solid outline of it pushing out of the front of his trousers and rubbing against James' with every slight movement Al made. They were groaning, grinding, and James gritted his teeth as the room spun, sweat dripping into his eyes, the glowing tubes around his neck rubbing uncomfortably as he and Al pushed against one another.

James pushed a second finger in, pulling the two apart and feeling the muscles holding them tight stretch and give. "James!" Al curled inward, his forehead pushing into James' shoulder, head twisting to the side.

Al was close. James could feel it, was pushing Al toward the edge, closer—

"You four, _out_."

James' hand stopped, and the girls finally looked away. Al's face remained right where it was, buried in the crook of James' neck, but James could feel an embarrassed heat spreading across his brother's face.

"Huh?" James looked at the large man blearily, the man's finger pointed right in his face. They'd been so fucking _close_ , and who did that fuck think he was, anyway?

"This shit?" The man waved a hand around the table. "This doesn't happen here. You four, out. Take your little orgy party with you!" The man's voice carried, and several of the shimmering bodies broke free from the dance floor, a cluster of people taking in the scene. James scowled and pulled his hands from Al's trousers, swinging his legs around to the outside of the booth, Al still clutching to him, seated firmly in James' lap.

"Yeah, well, you…" James said, trailing off. Al pinched his arm hard and muttered something against James' neck. James' couldn't quite catch the words, but it sounded threatening. Perhaps it was time to leave, after all. He scooted out of the booth, clutching Al's arms. Once they were both upright, Al's chest went flush against James' and his lips pressed to James' ear.

"I need to get off _so bad_ ," Al murmured, and that was all he had to say. James practically dragged him through the crowd, elbows stuck out to the side and knocking down any bastard who made the mistake of getting in his way. He caught sight of Scorpius just as he was stepping out the overly lit front door, a blond head speeding through the crowd towards them. Scorpius' nose was completely white, looking like it'd been dipped in snow. James sneered and let Scorpius grab on to his other arm. He pulled Al close, dragged both of the younger boys into the same alley they'd stood in earlier, and focused.

A few moments of _Destination, Determination, and Deliberation!_ later, the three of them were back in James' sitting room, standing on the exact same spot they'd kneeled in earlier. The floor was still covered with a very fine sheen of white powder, and Scorpius was quick to his knees, fingers dabbing at the ground.

"Stay in here," James ordered, footsteps stumbling, sluggish as he half-dragged, half-guided Al into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. Scorpius would hear the whole thing, that bastard, but he usually did. James didn't bother putting up a Silencing Charm.

"Merlin," Al breathed, ripping his trousers and pants off without ceremony, his shirt following suit.

James managed to get his zip down before the stumbling, stripping show Al put on distracted him, and he stood watching for a good few minutes, one hand shoved down the open front of his trousers, cupping his crotch, applying steady pressure. He leaned against the closed door.

"Are you coming?" Al's eyes were pleading. He was stripped bare, sitting on his arse on the bed. His scrawny knees had fallen open haphazardly, the liquid dribbling down from the head of his cock catching James' eye. Al was wetter than James had ever seen him, and the sight sent his dick pulsing. He took a deep breath, gave himself a tight squeeze, and joined Al on the bed.

"Yeah," James said, pushing between Al's knees. "I'm here."

Al's cock was bright red, pointing straight at James, the tip slick. James leaned forward and gave the swollen head a rough lick, his tongue sliding against the slit. Al's hips bucked, and James pressed them back down, pinning his brother to the bed.

"Come on," Al groaned, his hips jerking up with every lick. James sucked he head between his lips, tongue working against the head. "Fuckfuckfuck _fuck_!"

Head full of fog warring against the dying buzzing left over from the powder, James held steady, focusing. He let Al's cock drop from his mouth, letting it slap wetly against Al's thigh.

"Gotta fuck you," James said. His eyes were crossing from the strain of it, from fighting off the high, from trying his damnedest not to blow his load in his trousers. Al's arms came up and tugged his trousers and pants off the rest of the way, sliding them down James' calves and tossing them away.

"Sure," was all Al would say, his legs already open, sliding down James' sides in slow strokes, up and down. "Just—fuck, just hurry!" Al let his head fall back into the pillows as he watched his brother. His eyes were startlingly clear.

"Lube," James said. He couldn't think straight, didn't have a fucking clue where the tube was. It'd been too long since they'd actually fucked in his bed that there were bottles in every room in the flat, but Merlin forbid he could find one near his bed!

"I've got it," Al said, wand in hand and a summoning charm on his lips. The tube banged around in James' closet for a few seconds before flying into Al's hands. "Merlin, here it is!"

James took the tube with shaking hands. He tried breathing deep, tried keeping himself steady, but he just ended up squirting a gob of the stuff on his hand and the bed and Al's stomach. Al gave a distressed groan and swiped the stuff up, slicking his own fingers.

"You take too long," Al accused, fingers reaching down, pressing into the cleft of his arse.

"Don't wanna wait," James muttered, swiping a gob of it up and slicking his fingers, pressing one against Al's. Al was still loose, and their joined fingers slipped in easily. The motions were awkward, angling their wrists so they could slide the fingers in together. Al looked up, catching James' eyes, and smiled. James looked back at their fingers and slipped a second in alongside his first and Al's. Al let out a startled breath, and James, in spite of the strange angle, found Al's mouth, his tongue pushing between his brother's lips. The kiss was wet, messy, awkward, the movement hindered by Al's strange, furled-in position, James' focus pulled between watching the fingers fuck into his brothers arse and sucking Al's tongue into his own mouth.

"Okay," Al said, speaking directly into his mouth. James swallowed the words and pulled away, his eyes dropping down to the wet mess between Al's thighs.

" _Fuck_ —"

"I'm ready," Al said, all in one shaky breath. "Just, fuck, _please_!"

James didn't need to be told twice. His fingers slipped out of Al, and he grabbed his dick, slicking it and groaning at the feel, the marvel of where he was about to stick it. Swearing, he pushed his head against Al's softened hole, rolling his hips, and pushed in, sliding home in one smooth thrust.

Al's voice disappeared, his mouth open, his entire body straining and tense. James didn't let up, not for a second, kept pushing in hard, pulling back.

"Shit," Al hissed, hands reaching backwards to balance himself on the bedpost so he wouldn't slam his head against it, knees as wide open as they could go. "Keep going," he gasped, his back arching, hips rolling accommodatingly.

"Yeah," James grunted, rocking forward. His eyes could barely keep open, body weighted down by an otherworldly mixture of sexual satiation and pure inebriation, the room twirling in his peripheral as he rocked, rolling his hips, moving just that much closer—

One of Al's hands moved very suddenly, pushing its way between their sliding, grinding bodies, grabbing hold of Al's pulsing cock. He'd been gagging for it since the club, James could tell. Al hissed, eyes squeezing shut, as he fisted his cock, tugging it roughly. His arse gripped James, a bruising vice, and James felt the liquid heat spread between them as he ground his teeth, fighting off the edge. Al's hand, slick with come, smeared its way across his chest, and he looked up at James and pushed him into an open-mouthed kiss, all slick saliva and tongues swirling. James' eyes rolled back into his head, the all-consuming heat of the moment, the constricting grip of his brother's arse pushing him too hard, shoving him brutally over the edge. James pulsed, flooding Al's arse, and went tense, eyes open wide and unseeing.

When the world righted itself, the colours separating from a muddy blend, James was on his back, Al settled over him with arse still working a slow grip around James' cock.

"You awake?" Al asked, rocking forward. James groaned.

"I—fuck, Al—" James sighed feeling his cock twitch pathetically against the onslaught. "Too soon."

"Poor James," Al murmured, running a sticky hand through his hair. "I'm surprised you're even awake."

"Me, too!" came a nervous voice from the cracked open door. James closed his eyes again, taking a soothing breath, and opened them.

"Scorpius," he said, pained, "how long have you been sitting there?"

Scorpius' head poked in the door, nose even whiter than before. "Bwuah?"

"I think he did the whole bag," Al said, awe-struck. "How is he still alive?"

"Don't know, don't care," James grumbled. "Sleep!" His eyes were falling shut against the sluggishness of the come down. "Never again," he swore.

Scorpius rolled over, squirming around on the floor like a demented toddler. Al sighed and lifted himself off James, collapsing next to him and burrowing under his arm.

 _Definitely never again_ , James swore to himself, if only for the fact that after a while, he and Al would run out of clubs to be booted from.


End file.
